


Solid

by toastyboi



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Everything's Fine, Hurt/Comfort, It's not really that romantic, M/M, Night Terrors, Panic Attacks, davesprite's just totally fucked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 11:48:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10661970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toastyboi/pseuds/toastyboi
Summary: this however, wouldn't really be considered nothing.





	Solid

**Author's Note:**

> i can't fuckingg sleep ill edit this later

You’re realizing rather quickly now that you can’t breathe.

Physically you are capable, but when you try to suck a breath in your body rejects that shit immediately and pushes it out in quick, shaky huffs that more or less resemble hyperventilation than anything. But that’s dumb, you wouldn’t hyperventilate over nothing. 

This, however, wouldn’t really be considered nothing. You could waste your time trying to tell yourself that everything was fine, that nothing was happening, but you reached the point of no return when your wings started trembling and your hand started squeezing the blankets you had been lounging in like you’d lose yourself completely if you didn’t. Your talons, which were getting increasingly more difficult to handle, were puncturing the cloth and sending small, downy feathers fluttering to the ground around your tail. 

This kind of thing happens regularly, which isn’t necessarily healthy, but fuck if you care. All of this starts off before you conk out in your makeshift nest and get ready for a handful of hours of mind-grinding, teeth-clenchingly bad night terrors. It starts with the feeling of guilt, your stomach sinking so low you feel it in the feet you no longer have. It starts with an entire-body tremble, your arms clutching a pillow to your chest as if it were your only security. Everything is so jumbled for you now that you can’t tell if these nightly episodes you have are because of guilt, sleep deprivation, or fear. 

You’re pretty sure it’s somewhere around three in the morning. You can’t find a clock to prove your hunch, but your intuition is good enough to know that now would not be a good time to seek out one of the consorts. Not like you try to confide in the little guys often, but sometimes when you’re really having a hankerin’ for a good jam and you’d rather not butt in between the brady bunch, you go and shit your heart out to one of the pudgy looking salamanders. They listen, but that’s because 90% of the time they probably don’t understand what you’re saying. Maybe it’s better like that. 

You’re fully content to sit around here and wallow, but fate has other plans for you. There are footsteps coming from a small corridor immediately next to the little area you’ve decided to take shelter in. It’s near John and Jade’s rooms, but that’s only because you didn’t want to close yourself off completely. In a way you did, but you knew yourself. If you weren’t around people you’d flip into space. 

It’s odd to actually hear somebody walking since usually John and Jade stick to using their rad flotation. You know this can’t be Jade since her footsteps wouldn’t be so heavy, but you’re still not entirely anticipating seeing John round the corner with his sleep-face on. His hair is shaggy and falling into his face, pajamas hanging loosely around his arms and legs. He’s got a patch of dried drool in the corner of his mouth and a look on his face that says 'I just needed to piss but I have a feeling I’m going to be getting a lot more than that'. You’re also surprised by how quickly that expression changes to 'something is wrong'. 

Before you know it, there’s a hand on your shoulder and a comfortingly solid weight leaning against your tail. John’s taken a seat next to you in the pile, too dazed to fully register what’s going on. You feel his scratchy tone before you really hear it. 

“Hey,” he began, syllables slurred with fatigue. “What’s the matter? You look like you just saw a dead body.” The laugh that escapes you is a mistake. Your tone is breathy and hesitant, slightly within the higher range. When you speak, your words betray you and come out choppy, worried, anxious. Fuck. Fuck our voice, fuck you, fuck all of this. 

“Yeah? Can’t really blame me dude, with the way you’re lookin’ I almost mistook this for a scene during Night of the Living Dead.” The hand on your shoulder squeezes and god you could cry right now. You’re torn between letting him leave his hand there or pulling away because physical contact feels like it’ll make you throw up. You’re still trembling, shifting restlessly in your spot. John knows something is wrong, but he’s trying to talk to you, comfortingly for once. It’s a pleasant break from his usually insistent questions. Maybe it’s because he’s so tired. You want to think it’s because he cares a little. 

“Seriously, Dave! I haven’t seen you this shaken up since you saw one of the consorts eat an entire package of salamy. It wasn’t even that scary, but this is uh. This is kinda scary. Did you have a nightmare or something?” He’s barely making any sense, but you doubt you could do any better. Your heart nearly jumped out of your throat when he referred to you as Dave, but the little things shouldn’t be dwelled on right now. You shift again, leaning back against the pile as your wings splay out behind you. You’re a wreck. 

“Something like that,” you muse. He’s quiet, obviously waiting for you to continue. So you do. “It’s no big deal, bro. Just some shit that I should probably deal with myself.” That sounded like you were trying to get him to leave, but you swore that if he left right now you’d knock your head against the wall so hard you wouldn’t wake up for days. Your hand falls over the one on his shoulder in a reassuring gesture. A little pat that lingers. 

“S’not like I’m tryna kick you out or anything. It’s not really a big thing anyways, just thoughts. You know how thoughts can get, all sorts of jumbled until their banging their meaty fists against the walls of your skull and yelling at you to be let the fuck out in some sorta fit of hysterical panic.” Your voice cracks. You feel oddly close to the edge of something, but you don’t know what yet. “‘Scept I guess I’m not so good at telling these little guys to shut the fuck up.”   
That last part wasn’t meant to be there, but you got it out anyways. You didn’t go over John’s head, even if you were really hoping you had. He shifts back again and you feel his hand move from your shoulder to the opposite one, his broad arm resting against the upper part of your back. Your voice wavers more, and you lean into him. 

“Dude, it’s fine. I don’t,” you can’t stop the choked noise that comes out of your throat. You try to ignore it. “I don’t need-- just, fuck.” The sob that immediately follows isn’t your fault. Everything comes crashing down and is picked back up in a matter of seconds. Your body is shaking, your sobs are practically coming out like screams, but your head is being cradled and there are arms around you now that feel like such an anchor. John doesn’t know what’s going on and you feel like you might be worrying him, but all those thoughts are pushed to the back of your head as soon as his fingers meet the down against the base of your neck. 

It descends from there. You stop sobbing into his shoulder and sniff in a nasty amount of phlegm. John’s still rubbing your back, more alert than before but obviously still tired. Your left hand is still clutching the pile, but your right is resting against John’s back, holding him there. You shift it up, then down, as if you’re trying to comfort him now. 

“Come on,” John mumbles, hands hooking under your arms now so he could gently urge you up. “You can stay in my room tonight.” 

And you’re too tired to protest. You follow him towards his door, watching as he pushes it open and guides you to the mattress. It smells like laundry detergent and him, which you can appreciate. You don’t see him making any hesitations about this being weird. In fact, the only thing you see is dark circles under his eyes and an expression on his face that makes you want to shatter into a million pieces. You don’t look any better. 

You make your way under his blankets, letting your wings flutter before resting softly against your back. Your arms are open now, beckoning him closer. 

“Don’t be shy, bro. The TLC train goes two ways, and right now you’re looking like you need a little fixing. I’m your incorporeal Martha Stewart right here, going to do some home renovations on that sad face of yours.” You’re mumbling, but you sound better than you did before. He makes a face that’s a gross between disgust and amusement, sliding under the blankets with you. You can tell he’s hesitating, but soon enough he gives in, moving so he could wrap both arms solidly around you. You help guide his head down, his cheek and jaw resting against your shoulder. His nose is pressed up against the side of your neck and when he breathes you can feel your down ruffle. 

“Shut up, Dave.” You hear him whisper, fingers lightly running along the feathers on your wing. You shut up this time, tugging the blankets up so they covered both your shoulders. He tucks himself closer, your tail wrapping gently around his left leg. You hear him huff out a laugh, but that’s about it. He fall asleep relatively quickly and you’re not far behind. You don’t have another nightmare that night. You wanna say it’s because you persevered, but you know it’s because having John there is a comfort. 

Maybe he feels that way too.


End file.
